I’m 65 per cent more likely to be myself here
in the capital of same-sex coupledom
it’s true I like to button up
but every move is motion-censored
corridors slicked, bathrooms retro-
futured with sci-fi peepholes in galleries
where the staff wear ear pieces
there’s no signal between concrete walls
we visit Questacon’s touring moon but can’t get a good view
when I leave the Airbnb bedroom, the sonic echo
of Alexa trails, do you feel
pain? outside a woman sews herself
to a beanbag – it’s contemporary
you can get a soft wash on every corner
just don’t opt for the cuddle ‘n’ bubble package on Northbourne
head south instead to the roundabout rainbow
call me paranoid but all the couples
do cryptic over coffee – conspiracy?
we play tourist in the brutalist bunkers
where the bus never shows for FIFO poets
unaware of low-stakes
local politics
